


i'm taking the long way home

by pmcculers



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmcculers/pseuds/pmcculers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>howard meddling in things he knows nothing about ends up having consequences - for peggy;</p><p>she finds herself sixty years in the future with no idea of what's happening or how to get back to her time, luckily for her she stumbles into a café where she meets a very willing, helpful and particularly skilled angie martinelli;</p><p>being peggy, she figures this is a nice opportunity to take a look at the future of the S.H.I.E.L.D she was directing in her time - it won't take her long to figure out that was probably not her wisest decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm taking the long way home

**Author's Note:**

> chronology was a little fuzzy in the research I made, but i figured 1950 was a nice guess for director of shield/before getting married peggy.
> 
> also who doesn't think most of the things gone wrong involving SHIELD since The Avengers 1 wouldn't have been prevented had peggy been able to intervene? so here we are.
> 
> come talk to me @ paigemcculers on tumblr or @pmcculers on twitter if you want :)

Eventually the ringing in your ears starts to fade out and all other sounds clash around in your head; loud horns and cars passing through fast and people talking in quick succession, voices meddling together – it overwhelms all your other senses until someone shoulders past you and almost knocks you to the ground.

Your eyes finally focus and you freeze in place.

The last thing you remember is standing in Howard’s S.H.I.E.L.D lab as he meddled with some sort of device that had mysteriously fallen in his hands. You had warned him against pocking around an object he knew nothing about.

“I’ve already established that it doesn’t explode or discharge any kind of energy, Peg, what could possibly happen?” he had said with one of his annoyingly wide grins.

“I’m certain those will be your exact last words before you turn into dust one day,” you had rebutted with a long eye roll that only caused him to laugh heartily.

 Not a whole minute later, he activated something, a loud ringing blasted through the room and you lunged for the device, knocking Howard out of the way as you grabbed it from his hands.

And now you’re here, standing in the middle of what could be Times Square.

It certainly feels and _smells_ like New York City and you can faintly recognize the street and a few buildings, but everything is stickily different. The buildings are taller and the sun reflects through their exteriors that look as if they're made of pure glass. Nothing about the architecture resembles what you know. And the people; nobody that’s passing through you looks like they belong in your time, in _your_ New York - which is what finally makes the penny drop.

This _isn’t_ your city.

Scrambling to the nearest newsstand, full of magazines and newspapers you don’t recognize, you grab a random one and look up the date.

May, 2011.

You stand there, staring at the date, trying to process it, for what must have been a long time, even if it felt like seconds to you because the next thing you’re aware of is a gruff voice speaking up.

“Hey, cosplay lady, either buy it or stop staring at it.” You look up to find the man behind the stand glaring at you. You want to meet him head on and demand to know what he just called you, but you don’t think you’d look very imposing now – confused? Definitely. So you quickly put the magazine back and walk away.

Recognizing the names of the streets, you walk for a few blocks, trying to wrap your head around what’s happening. The only explanation is that Howard’s device somehow caused you to time-travel. You’ve left your city and your time and you’re now in the future New York.

 _Stuck_ in the future New York.

With a calming, rehearsed breathing pattern, you start to develop a plan to figure out how to fix this and, since you’re here, see how the future is. Maybe even do some research on how the fashion industry has evolved – these pants and loose shirts you’ve seen so much in the last ten minutes seem really comfortable.

An old-looking café catches your attention and you head towards it, feeling a burning need for some caffeine – or anything that resembles your old, normal, pre time-travel life. Counting the pennies you have in your skirt’s pocket, you figure you should have enough for a cup. When you walk into the place with the huge L&L letters above the doors, you realize it’s not quite as old and normal as the outside suggests. The wooden booths, round tables and the counter itself seem normal enough, but to the right, past wide-open doors, is another room that looks like nothing you’ve ever seen in a café. All you can see inside is a table with five thin, rectangular, black boxes on top of it, all lined beside each other, a chair in front of each box and something light-blue shinning from their centers.

You eye the room skeptically as you walk up to the counter, where a beautiful woman stands, leaning against it with her elbow as she thumbs a rectangular, small device. Her hair is pulled to the right and tied in a loose braid and she’s wearing a blue top that only reaches a few inches under her breasts, leaving her taut stomach bare. At the end of her prominent V line and her jutting hipbones, she’s wearing what you recognize as black overalls, their front folded down and the straps hanging low past her knees. You can’t deny she looks perplexingly beautiful and something you faintly recognize tugs at your heart - you choose to pass it as bewilderment, as it was a distinct feeling when you first met Steve as well.

“Excuse me, Miss, may I have a black coffee?” you ask as you settle on a stool just to her right. She nods before pocketing the device and turning, without even glancing at you, towards a weird machine on the table behind her.

“Sure thing, English,” she replies with a playful tone and it, surprisingly, puts you at ease in a way very few things could have. This more relaxed state helps you think clearly and you shake the familiar feeling this woman brings, in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

“Pardon me, Miss. Could you direct me towards the National Library? I need to do some research.” The woman keeps her back to you as she tilts her head and her shoulders shake in a laugh low enough you cannot actually hear it.

“I doubt there’s anything in that old, musty library that you can’t find on Google nowadays, hon,” she playfully rebuts and your face scrunches up in confusion.

“Google?” you wonder out loud and this time she laughs loudly. A grin tugs at your lips.

“Yeah, y’know, li’l search engine people use so they don’t get allergies from old books? You can use any of the computers over there,” she explains, pointing at the room full of boxes before going back to the machine from where a black liquid, you assume is your coffee, is pouring down.

Examining the room from your stool, you’re certain those boxes don’t look like the computers you had been introduced to in Bletchley Park, when you were told the handling of them required some serious study and training, so you had to keep your curiosity to yourself. And now this woman’s talking about this search engine in the computers so casually and it makes you feel stupid that you have no idea what it means.

The wonders of time-travel, you figure. Puffing out your chest, you try and push your wounded pride aside.

“Would you be a dear and, please, show me how to do it?” you request, keeping your voice as sweet as it goes. This woman doesn’t look like she’d be too willing if you started ordering her around – it’s something about the set of her spine and shoulders, and how she moves around so fluidly.

“Buddy, are ya shittin’ me? Even my _nonna_ knew how to use a compu-“ She freezes mid-way as she turns around with your cup of coffee and finally looks at you. Her eyes take you in and you straighten up your back as she softly mumbles, “Uh, woah.” She looks as baffled by you as you feel by everything around you, so you try to keep a friendly expression.

“I’m terribly sorry to be a bother, but I really don’t know how to use one,” you try again and she shakes off of her stupor and walks over, placing the coffee in front of you. She tilts her head, eyes roaming all over you again and you fight against the instinct to scowl. She flicks her braid over her shoulder to rest on her back and you see the name-tag it’s been hiding – Angie. As far as names go, you’re glad to see hers is quite common.

“Your outfit might be as old as that library you’re looking for, but ya look like you’re close to my age, so how the hell do ya not know how to use a computer?” she asks with furrowed brows and you can  basically see the wheels turning behind those striking, blue eyes. A playful grin turns her lips up and she asks teasingly, “Did ya time-travel or somethin’?”

You’re so taken aback you can't control your reaction. You feel your eyes widening, your shoulders tensing up and your mouth dropping open in a response that your stunned brain cannot stop.

“Holy shit, ya did?!” she exclaims with her own wide-eyed stare. You quickly turn around to make sure the café is as empty as when you walked in and there’s no risk of anyone overhearing.

“Why did you assume that?” you ask with a forced, little chuckle before continuing with an even tone, “Would that be a more plausible scenario than simply not knowing how to use…that thing?” You point towards the boxes, still having a hard time accepting that those huge machines full of data you used to know turned into these small things.

“I mean,” she starts, leaning casually against the counter, “in the last few years we had a demi-god and his brother, that everyone thought only existed in Northern mythology, crash our country; a man who turns into a giant, muscular, green ball of rage and destruction; and an annoyin’ billionaire who flies around in a suit he created - but, _no,_ I think civilians time-travelin’ is still pretty much not the norm ‘round here.”

Civilian. Right, you’re a civilian here. You probably don’t really _exist_ in this time; you’re not sure how time-traveling is supposed to work. With all this talk about demi-gods and green monsters and flying suits, you might be in a completely different world. What was it that Howard used to babble about? Different dimensions or something?

Angie’s eyes are shinning as they watch you, full of a sharp mirth, and the way her voice is a constant mix between teasing banter and kindness – she reminds you too much of a mix between Howard, Bucky and Steve for you to resist the calmness settling over you.

“Apparently I have a lot of catching up to do,” you comment just as casually, sipping on your coffee – strong and just a tad bitter, perfect -, and Angie’s whole body perks up.

“Especially if you’re from…” her gleaming eyes look you up and down again and you feel your cheeks flush in an unusual display of bashfulness. You really need to get your body up to speed and working properly, these reactions are unacceptable. “I wanna say the 40s?” she guesses, prompting an answer out of you with raised eyebrows and eyes full of curiosity.

“1950.” Her jaw drops and she lets out a puff of breath.

“ _Damn_ , you’re fo’real,” Angie breaths out.

“I’m afraid so,” you mumble and her face lights up in excitement.

“How did ya get here? Did ya build a time machine?” she asks and her eyes are jumping around without focusing on anything, you recognize the look. Howard does that whenever he is trying to calculate possibilities and probabilities of success.

Is or was? Is it possible that Howard is alive in this future? You need to get to that research.

“I assure you, I’m not here by choice,” you grunt and Angie looks a bit taken aback even as she nods understandingly. “Do you think you could help me with the…search engine, you said?”

“Google,” she supplies with an amused, tiny grin. “And yeah, yeah, totally.” She walks from behind the counter and nods you towards the room full of computers.

Following close behind her, you realize there are two other tables of computers in the room just like that one, and they are both fully occupied. There’s a buzzing in the room that you could not hear from outside, a mix of quiet chatting and fingers hitting buttons that look like typewriter keys.

“The room is sound-proof,” Angie comments as she guides you towards the computer that’s the farthest from the door and allows you to look over the rest of the room. You’re impressed and grateful for her insight in positioning.

She pulls the chair for you with a small bow and you smile gratefully before sitting down. Seeing it up-close, you realize the boxes are some sort of small televisions and the glowing blue-light comes from the screen. You look up at Angie, confused, and she only stares at you for a second before she seems to realize you have no idea what to do.

“Right, ‘course, my bad,” she apologizes as she leans down, arm wrapped around the back of your comfortable chair, and grabs a weird-looking, small device that has two buttons. “This is a mouse; you use it to move the arrow icon on the screen.” She points to the glowing screen and you have to narrow your eyes to realize there is a little arrow moving around it. “You use the button on the left to select and open somethin’.” You watch as she moves the arrow towards something called _Google Chrome_ , clicks once and selects it. Nudging your shoulder softly, she lets go of the mouse and nods towards it. You grab it hesitantly and she nods with an encouraging smile. “Now double-click it to open the internet browser.” You have no idea what an internet browser is, but you do as she says, figuring you can learn the rest at another point. Something jumps open on the screen and you are not able to control your expression in time. Angie laughs heartily at your wide-eyed look and you turn to glare at her. “Sorry, sorry. You’re just really adorable.” You huff through another glare, but she just smirks widely before pointing at the typewriter keys and then at something on the screen. “You type whatever you wanna search in this bar here, click the big key on the keyboard that says ENTER and _voilà_ ,” she finishes with a flourish of her hand. You stare at the screen for a couple of seconds before looking up at her again, completely lost. Her smirk softens into a grin. “Lookit, let’s say I wanna search about who ya are, I’d just type in your name and if there’s somethin’ ‘bout ya in the internet, it’ll show up,” she explains patiently.

Internet. That’s something else you’ll have to inquire about later – you might need a notebook for everything you need to learn.

 You decide to ignore the obvious probing for your name because, as safe as you feel around Angie, you’re still a highly trained agent and you’ve known her for all of ten minutes. Looking over the keyboard, you slowly type “S.H.I.E.L.D.” in the incredibly soft keys, press ENTER and watch as absolutely nothing pops up. You look up at Angie and she’s watching you suspiciously. It’s the first time her face has been full of anything other than openness and kindness. You have to force your throat to swallow through its dryness.

“I don’t know how ya know ‘bout these guys or why you’re searchin’ ‘em, English, and I’m sure you ain’t gonna tell me,” she says, just the tiny ghost of a grin on the right corner of her mouth. “But to search ‘bout _‘em_ , you’re gonna need somethin’ a bit more well-equipped than these computers here.”

Red flags instantly come up; S.H.I.E.L.D. was a deeply covert agency since you helped found it and, if the results of that search are correct, they’ve gone to great lengths to keep it that way throughout all the technological advances. So how on bloody Earth would this seemingly ordinary woman know about it? Subtly, you run a hand through your thigh, to make sure the extra weight on it is your gun not just an empty holster, and sure enough your hand bumps against the handle; the tightness on your chest eases up.

Angie’s eyes shoot down to follow your hand and she is quick to take a step away from you, eyes wide in surprise. Not wanting to give her a reason to call the police – you’re not certain how you would make them believe your  time-travel explanation -, or worse, scare her away, you slowly lift your hand back up, eyes locked with Angie’s, trying to convey you don’t mean any harm to her. Her eyes are full of doubt and distrust, but she stays put.

“How do _you_ know who they are, Angie?” She studies you curiously for a whole minute before she decides it’s safe to sit on the empty chair beside you.

“I have done some research of my own,” she answers curtly, face set in an aloof expression that doesn’t seem to belong in her face. It amuses you to the point you have a hard time keeping yourself from grinning - her whole persona seems too big and intense for aloofness.

“If there’s all this technology in this century, shouldn’t they be equipped enough to secure their network of information?” you ask and, for your surprise, a smirk pulls at Angie’s lips.

“Hon, if ya saw how small my criminal record is you’d know there’s hardly anyone able to keep me out of any network.”

Alright, that’s definitely not what you were expecting, but you decide to roll with it – it’s not like you’re an official agent anymore, not in this century anyway.

“The fact that you have been caught and charged says otherwise,” you rebut and Angie actually scowls and pouts, clearly offended.

“That was just beginners bad luck,” she grumbles, pout still in place. This time you don’t try to contain your amused smile and she immediately smiles back.

“Ok, I’ll bite it,” you relent with a sigh, “how come?” Angie smirks triumphantly and leans against the table and towards you.

“Y’see, I’d narrowed it down to two paths that would work for me to break into the security systems most government agencies use,” she says in a low tone, her hands moving as she speaks. “Sadly, I was slightly misinformed and ended up choosin’ the wrong one and got caught. But I was a minor, so I did some social service, served some time in juvie, then I was good to go. And now I know better.” You watch, completely chocked, as she shrugs her shoulders and proceeds to pick at her nails.

Alright, so maybe not such an ordinary woman after all. Also, juvie? Another word you need to research – you really need to find a notebook.

“Should you be disclosing this sort of information to people you barely know?”

“I was charged, served my time and lost my computer, what can ya do ‘bout it now?” she wonders with an endearingly smug smirk. Again, she reminds you a bit of Howard and, surprisingly, it doesn’t make you want to punch her in the face.

Mostly because there’s something in her eyes that you recognize from seeing it in the mirror every day, reflecting from your own eyes since Bucky and Steve.

“I’m certain you just implied a minute ago that you still had the means to get me the _confidential_ information I want. If I was an agent you could get in big trouble.”

“Are ya?” she asks, eyebrows raised and smirk in place. It sounds like a challenge and you’re enjoying the easy banter with this woman you just met more than you’ve enjoyed anything in the past few years.  

“I suppose not anymore,” you relent and she doesn’t really look surprised by your admission, instead she reaches forward and squeezes your upper arm in a comforting gesture – it works better than a touch from a stranger ever should.

“It’s settled then,” she states happily, bringing her hands together. “I’ll help ya find out whatever you need and you don’t rat me out to the cops.” She offers you her hand with a little tilt of her head and a wide grin and, as you shake her hand firmly, you’re suddenly reminded of the entirely too adorable, eager-to-please puppy Howard had brought to keep you company in your lonely house just a few months back.

You really hope he took care of Amy after you disappeared.

“But you’ll have to hang ‘round ‘til bar-time starts and Linda and Carol come, then I can take ya up to my place,” she continues in that same chirpy tone of voice.

“That’s awfully forward of you, isn’t it?” you tease, but, unexpectedly, Angie’s eyes widen and she makes weird, choked noises as she shakes her head and hands frantically.

“What? N-no, no! No, I meant- for ya to use my computer, that’s all I meant with it!” she assures, stumbling over her words in her rush. You’re so taken aback it takes you a second to react, but, as soon as you recover, you place a hand on her forearm, brows furrowed in an apologetic expression.

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable it-”

“What? No, yo- you didn’t,” Angie interrupts, shaking her head even more furiously than before. “I just didn’t want ya to misinterpret me. ‘Cause I would – y’know, _take_ ya to my place.” A grimace and she continues, rushing over her words again, “I mean you’re gorgeous and I _am,_ y’know _-_ a lesbian, I mean, but I wasn’t hitting on ya or anythin’, not that I never would- but I _wasn’t_.” An anguished sigh leaves her lips and, “I just meant take ya there for ya to use my computer and I didn’t want _you_ to feel uncomfortable or offended or anythin’ - and I’ll just stop talking now,” she finishes in a miserable tone and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from grinning widely at her distressed state, even as a pang of sympathy hits you.

“You did not offend me at all,” you assure her, giving the forearm your hand is still holding a soft squeeze. “From your reaction I’ll assume you had bad experiences regarding your sexual orientation before?”

“Sexuality. We call it sexuality now; sexual orientation has a bad implication to it,” Angie corrects and you nod with a grin, storing the information. “And yeah, had a girl workin’ here who ended up becomin’ my roommate; she figured out I was a lesbian after a few months and completely freaked out.” She pauses for a beat, studying your affronted expression curiously before she continues with a soft, hesitant voice, “I have to say, you’re takin’ it surprisingly well for a woman from your time- I mean, I _know_ queer people always existed, but I imagine it was harder in your time.”

She honestly has no idea. Maybe you’ll be able to teach her a thing or two as well – as repayment for her help, of course. You shouldn’t stick around for too long after all, just enough to figure out how S.H.I.E.L.D. is faring.

“I’ve always been told I was a woman ahead of my time,” you comment with a pointed look and Angie raises her eyebrows, intrigued. “I’m saddened to see things have not changed as much as I’d have expected them to by now. Are all social issues still like that?”

“Pretty much? Social status, race, sexuality, gender, you name it. We’re still fighting the fight.” You nod with a deep sigh and she gives you a sympathetic look and adds, “I guess intelligent, informative discussions about these issues evolved more than they were effectively solved.”

You suppose that is a step in the right direction. With sixty years ahead, however, you had hoped more would have been accomplished. You’ll think about it further after checking in on S.H.I.E.L.D and finding your way back to your time.

“That’s terribly discouraging,” you mumble and only when Angie reaches for your hand and gives it a squeeze, you realize you still have it wrapped around her forearm and that abnormal feeling of bashfulness rises again. Pulling your hand away, as casually as you can, you grin softly at her. “I suppose I’ll wait here for you to _take_ me to your home then.” Angie’s cheeks flush a bright pink and you barely refrain from laughing. Not wanting to embarrass her further, you point towards the computer, “And try to do some catching up in the meantime.”

With a small laugh that makes your stomach turn pleasantly, she stands up, walks towards a desk in the corner behind you and pulls something from a drawer.

“I figured some familiarity would do ya good,” she explains kindly as she places a notepad and a pen on the table. “Go wild, English. Call me if ya get stuck,” she teases with one of her trademark wide smirks before she walks out of the room.

Your chest is immediately filled with inexplicable warmth as you realize how lucky you are to have stumbled into someone as kind and helpful as Angie. You imagine things would have been much harder had it happened any other way, you’re afraid you’re quite vulnerable in your extreme ignorance in this age.

Pulling open the notepad, you pass the used pages until you find a blank one and write down,

_Time-traveling_

_Computers_

_Internet_

_Search engine Google_

_Juvie_

_Demi-god of Northern mythology_

_Giant, angry, green man_

_Billionaire in a flying suit_

With a deep sigh towards the list you turn back to the computer, trying to remember what Angie had explained. Typing ‘time-traveling’ into the search bar, you press ENTER and a large list shows up - well, you clearly have your work cut out for you. Maybe you’ll leave a few of those for Angie to explain to you, everything does seem quite a bit more interesting in her soothing, perky voice.


End file.
